Complete Prose Works
the office, William Hartshorne, a revolutionary character, who had seen
Washington, was a special friend of mine, and I had many a talk with him
about long past times. The apprentices, including myself, boarded with
his grand-daughter. I used occasionally to go out riding with the boss,
who was very kind to us boys; Sundays he took us all to a great old
rough, fortress-looking stone church, on Joralemon street, near where
the Brooklyn city hall now is--(at that time broad fields and country
roads everywhere around.[5]) Afterward I work'd on the "Long Island
Star," Alden Spooner's paper. My father all these years pursuing his
trade as carpenter and builder, with varying fortune. There was a
growing family of children--eight of us--my brother Jesse the oldest,
myself the second, my dear sisters Mary and Hannah Louisa, my brothers
Andrew, George, Thomas Jefferson, and then my youngest brother, Edward,
born 1835, and always badly crippled, as I am myself of late years.
Note:
[5] Of the Brooklyn of that time (1830-40) hardly anything remains,
except the lines of the old streets. The population was then between ten
and twelve thousand. For a mile Fulton street was lined with magnificent
elm trees. The character of the place was thoroughly rural. As a sample
of comparative values, it may be mention'd that twenty-five acres in
what is now the most costly part of the city, bounded by Flatbush and
Fulton avenues, were then bought by Mr Parmentier, a French _emigré_,
for $4000. Who remembers the old places as they were? Who remembers the
old citizens of that time? Among the former were Smith & Wood's, Coe
Downing's, and other public houses at the ferry, the old Ferry itself,
Love lane, the Heights as then, the Wallabout with the wooden bridge,
and the road out beyond Fulton street to the old toll-gate. Among the
latter were the majestic and genial General Jeremiah Johnson, with
others, Gabriel Furman, Rev. E. M. Johnson, Alden Spooner, Mr.
Pierrepont, Mr. Joralemon, Samuel Willoughby, Jonathan Trotter, George
Hall, Cyrus P. Smith, N. B. Morse, John Dikeman, Adrian Hegeman, William
Udall, and old Mr. Duflon, with his military garden.
GROWTH--HEALTH--WORK
I develop'd (1833-4-5) into a healthy, strong youth (grew too fast,
though, was nearly as big as a man at 15 or 16.) Our family at this
period moved back to the country, my dear mother very ill for a long
time, but recover'd. All these years I was down Long Island more or less
every summer, now east, now west, sometimes months at a stretch. At
16, 17, and so on, was fond of debating societies, and had an active
membership with them, off and on, in Brooklyn and one or two country
towns on the island. A most omnivorous novel-reader, these and later
years, devour'd everything I could get. Fond of the theatre, also, in
New York, went whenever I could--sometimes witnessing fine performances.
1836-7, work'd as compositor in printing offices in New York city. Then,
when little more than 18, and for a while afterwards, went to teaching
country schools down in Queens and Suffolk counties, Long Island, and
"boarded round." (This latter I consider one of my best experiences and
deepest lessons in human nature behind the scenes and in the masses.)
In '39, '40, I started and publish'd a weekly paper in my native town,
Huntington. Then returning to New York city and Brooklyn, work'd on as
printer and writer, mostly prose, but an occasional shy at "poetry".
MY PASSION FOR FERRIES
Living in Brooklyn or New York city from this time forward, my life,
then, and still more the following years, was curiously identified with
Fulton ferry, already becoming the greatest of its sort in the world
for general importance, volume, variety, rapidity, and picturesqueness.
Almost daily, later, ('50 to '60,) I cross'd on the boats, often up
in the pilot-houses where I could get a full sweep, absorbing
shows, accompaniments, surroundings. What oceanic currents, eddies,
underneath--the great tides of humanity also, with ever-shifting
movements. Indeed, I have always had a passion for ferries; to me they
afford inimitable, streaming, never-failing, living poems. The river
and bay scenery, all about New York island, any time of a fine day--the
hurrying, splashing sea-tides--the changing panorama of steamers, all
sizes, often a string of big ones outward bound to distant ports--the
myriads of white-sail'd schooners, sloops, skiffs, and the marvellously
beautiful yachts--the majestic sound boats as they rounded the Battery
and came along towards 5, afternoon, eastward bound--the prospect off
towards Staten Island, or down the Narrows, or the other way up the
Hudson--what refreshment of spirit such sights and experiences gave me
years ago (and many a time since.) My old pilot friends, the Balsirs,
Johnny Cole, Ira Smith, William White, and my young ferry friend, Tom
Gere--how well I remember them all.
BROADWAY SIGHTS
Besides Fulton ferry, off and on for years, I knew and frequented
Broadway--that noted avenue of New York's crowded and mixed humanity,
and of so many notables. Here I saw, during those times, Andrew Jackson,
Webster, Clay, Seward, Martin Van Buren, filibuster Walker, Kossuth,
Fitz Greene Halleck, Bryant, the Prince of Wales, Charles Dickens, the
first Japanese ambassadors, and lots of other celebrities of the time.
Always something novel or inspiriting; yet mostly to me the hurrying and
vast amplitude of those never-ending human currents. I remember seeing
James Fenimore Cooper in a court-room in Chambers street, back of the
city hall, where he was carrying on a law case--(I think it was a charge
of libel he had brought against some one.) I also remember seeing Edgar
A. Poe, and having a short interview with him, (it must have been in
1845 or '6,) in his office, second story of a corner building, (Duane
or Pearl street.) He was editor and owner or part owner of "the Broadway
Journal." The visit was about a piece of mine he had publish'd. Poe was
very cordial, in a quiet way, appear'd well in person, dress, &c. I
have a distinct and pleasing remembrance of his looks, voice, manner and
matter; very kindly and human, but subdued, perhaps a little jaded. For
another of my reminiscences, here on the west side, just below Houston
street, I once saw (it must have been about 1832, of a sharp, bright
January day) a bent, feeble but stout-built very old man, bearded,
swathed in rich furs, with a great ermine cap on his head, led and
assisted, almost carried, down the steps of his high front stoop (a
dozen friends and servants, emulous, carefully holding, guiding him) and
then lifted and tuck'd in a gorgeous sleigh, envelop'd in other furs,
for a ride. The sleigh was drawn by as fine a team of horses as I ever
saw. (You needn't think all the best animals are brought up nowadays;
never was such horseflesh as fifty years ago on Long Island, or south,
or in New York city; folks look'd for spirit and mettle in a nag, not
tame speed merely.) Well, I, a boy of perhaps 13 or 14, stopp'd and
gazed long at the spectacle of that fur-swathed old man, surrounded by
friends and servants, and the careful seating of him in the sleigh. I
remember the spirited, champing horses, the driver with his whip, and a
fellow-driver by his side, for extra prudence. The old man, the subject
of so much attention, I can almost see now. It was John Jacob Astor.
The years 1846, '47, and there along, see me still in New York City,
working as writer and printer, having my usual good health, and a good
time generally.
OMNIBUS JAUNTS AND DRIVERS
One phase of those days must by no means go unrecorded--namely, the
Broadway omnibuses, with their drivers.
The vehicles still (I write this paragraph in 1881) give a portion
of the character of Broadway--the Fifth avenue, Madison avenue, and
Twenty-third street lines yet running. But the flush days of the old
Broadway stages, characteristic and copious, are over. The Yellow-birds,
the Red-birds, the original Broadway, the Fourth avenue, the
Knickerbocker, and a dozen others of twenty or thirty years ago, are all
gone. And the men specially identified with them, and giving vitality
and meaning to them--the drivers--a strange, natural, quick-eyed and
wondrous race--(not only Rabelais and Cervantes would have gloated upon
them, but Homer and Shakspere would)--how well I remember them, and
must here give a word about them. How many hours, forenoons and
afternoons--how many exhilarating night-times I have had--perhaps June
or July, in cooler air-riding the whole length of Broadway, listening
to some yarn, (and the most vivid yarns ever spun, and the rarest
mimicry)--or perhaps I declaiming some stormy passage from Julius Caesar
or Richard, (you could roar as loudly as you chose in that heavy, dense,
uninterrupted street-bass.) Yes, I knew all the drivers then, Broadway
Jack, Dressmaker, Balky Bill, George Storms, Old Elephant, his brother
Young Elephant (who came afterward,) Tippy, Pop Rice, Big Frank,
Yellow Joe, Pete Callahan, Patsey Dee, and dozens more; for there were
hundreds. They had immense qualities, largely animal--eating, drinking;
women--great personal pride, in their way--perhaps a few slouches here
and there, but I should have trusted the general run of them, in their
simple good-will and honor, under all circumstances. Not only for
comradeship, and sometimes affection--great studies I found them also.
(I suppose the critics will laugh heartily, but the influence of those
Broadway omnibus jaunts and drivers and declamations and escapades
undoubtedly enter'd into the gestation of "Leaves of Grass.")
PLAYS AND OPERAS TOO
And certain actors and singers, had a good deal to do with the business.
All through these years, off and on, I frequented the old Park, the
Bowery, Broadway and Chatham-square theatres, and the Italian operas
at Chambers-street, Astor-place or the Battery--many seasons was on
the free list, writing for papers even as quite a youth. The old Park
theatre--what names, reminiscences, the words bring back! Placide,
Clarke, Mrs. Vernon, Fisher, Clara F., Mrs. Wood, Mrs. Seguin,
Ellen Tree, Hackett, the younger Kean, Macready, Mrs. Richardson,
Rice--singers, tragedians, comedians. What perfect acting! Henry Placide
in "Napoleon's Old Guard" or "Grandfather Whitehead,"--or "the Provoked
Husband" of Gibber, with Fanny Kemble as Lady Townley--or Sheridan
Knowles in his own "Virginius"--or inimitable Power in "Born to Good
Luck." These, and many more, the years of youth and onward. Fanny
Kemble--name to conjure up great mimic scenes withal--perhaps the
greatest. I remember well her rendering of Bianca in "Fazio," and
Marianna in "the Wife." Nothing finer did ever stage exhibit--the
veterans of all nations said so, and my boyish heart and head felt it in
every minute cell. The lady was just matured, strong, better than merely
beautiful, born from the footlights, had had three years' practice in
London and through the British towns, and then she came to give America
that young maturity and roseate power in all their noon, or rather
forenoon, flush. It was my good luck to see her nearly every night she
play'd at the old Park--certainly in all her principal characters. I
heard, these years, well render'd, all the Italian and other operas
in vogue, "Sonnambula," "the Puritans," "Der Freischutz," "Huguenots,"
"Fille d'Regiment," "Faust," "Etoile du Nord," "Poliuto," and others.
Verdi's "Ernani," "Rigoletto," and "Trovatore," with Donnizetti's
"Lucia" or "Favorita" or "Lucrezia," and Auber's "Massaniello," or
Rossini's "William Tell" and "Gazza Ladra," were among my special
enjoyments. I heard Alboni every time she sang in New York and
vicinity--also Grisi, the tenor Mario, and the baritone Badiali, the
finest in the world.